


let's get extracurricular (i'll do you after class)

by pupyunho



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Volleyball Players, Anal Fingering, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Libero! San, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Team Manager! Mingi, volleyball is gay bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pupyunho/pseuds/pupyunho
Summary: Mingi isn’t really sure how he ended up in this situation: him, bent over at the waist, underwear tangled around his ankles, face smushed into the stack of jerseys on Coach Gyuwook’s desk.If anyone asks...well...there's nothing wrong with a little team bonding.





	let's get extracurricular (i'll do you after class)

Mingi isn’t really sure how he ended up in this situation: him, bent over at the waist, underwear tangled around his ankles, face smushed into the stack of jerseys on Coach Gyuwook’s desk as his university volleyball team’s libero works a spit-slicked finger into him.

He tries to hold back the noise, remembers San smiling sweetly-sharply and telling him _keep quiet, okay?_, but a tiny, tiny whimper escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

Behind him, he can hear a low chuckle, even as San’s finger slides deeper, pressure gentle but unyielding as Mingi clenches around him. Mingi jolts when San leans over him, presses a hand against the back of Mingi’s neck, and rubs a thumb over the little hairs at his nape.

“Are you watching the door?”

“N-nobody’ll come,” Mingi says, barely. Coach has long since gone home. He feels like he’s on fire. He shifts his hips a little, welcoming the intrusion when San slides a second finger into Mingi along the first, tries not to think about just how much he’d like to have another finger, maybe, or maybe much more.

“You know Yunho stays after practice sometimes.” The way San says it is too carefully indifferent, too practiced and casual compared to the cruel twist of the fingers that accompanies his words. “What if he walked in here?”

Mingi doesn’t register the words at first, but when he does, his face burns. He’d known Yunho for a little longer than San. When Mingi was new to being team manager, stumbling and shy to make friends with the team’s boys, Yunho welcomed him with enthusiasm. Mingi would think about it for a week when the tall middle blocker dragged him to the back of the bus to sit with him and the boys instead of next to the coach. So he developed a bit of a crush, whatever. But it wasn’t _like that_ anymore.

San takes his silence personally. “Maybe that’d just make you _hornier_,” he says, “huh? Would you like that? Yunho seeing you like this...” He wraps his hand around Mingi’s cock and digs his thumb meanly into the slit, spreading the precome leaking all around his head.

“Would not,” Mingi says weakly, clenching his fists in the jersey material. San’s #4, lettered in fluorescent white, stares up at him mockingly. San scissors his fingers inside of Mingi, and he can feel his hole flutter around the other boy’s digits. He touches something that has Mingi gasping, hips bucking. “I-I don’t even, I don’t like him, San-nie, _please_-”

San abruptly lets go of his cock, and withdraws his fingers wetly from Mingi’s ass. Mingi whines, immediately, shifting onto his elbows to look over his shoulder and complain, because, _seriously_, he’ll beg if San really wants him to, will tell him that San’s cock is the only one Mingi drools over, whatever-

But San’s face is nestled between Mingi’s cheeks and Mingi feels something soft, slick, and hot on him, tracing circles around his rim.

Surprised, Mingi tries to wriggle away, ears flushing red. San grips the flesh around his hips hard enough that Mingi wonders if he’ll be able to fit his own fingers to the light dappling of bruises later; when he’s gone home, when he’s jacked off to the thought of star libero Choi San.

“W-_why_-”

San doesn’t answer, just stiffens his tongue and presses in past Mingi’s hole, and his complaints drift off into a long moan.

San is _messy_, just lets drool slide down Mingi’s taint, and the wet noises he makes as he defiles Mingi’s ass with his tongue, horrible little slurps and sucks, are enough to drive Mingi’s face into the jersey, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and Axe as a long string of rambling cries fall from his lips.

Then San adds a finger, then a second, in addition to his tongue, and Mingi’s voice is broken and pleading, possible third-party company completely forgotten. San doesn’t seem to mind, encourages it, pistons his fingers even harder after a particularly loud whine, reaches around to stroke Mingi’s cock like a reward when he babbles _San, San, San._

Mingi is so greedy for touch, so eager, tries to thrust into San’s hand around his cock while pushing back onto San’s fingers where they fuck into him alongside San’s tongue, and he can hear himself say _please, please, let me come, fuck me, please, Sannie,_ in a voice way too wrecked to be his own, surely -

And then San is stroking him firmly, quickly, and Mingi comes with a cry into his fist, release dripping down onto the desk.

He barely has time to catch his breath when San manhandles him onto his back, lean muscle bunching in his arms as he shoves Mingi up the desk and follows him onto it. Mingi grunts when his shoulder knocks into the computer monitor, but folds his legs up obligingly, muscles too warm and jelly-like from his orgasm to do anything more than fall lazily spread.

“Just stay there for me,” he exhales. “Yeah. Good boy.” 

Mingi swallows.

San is a sight. His eyes are dark, and his tongue peeks slightly out the side of his lips. A tendon in his neck is taut. 

San is always gorgeous, Mingi thinks. He’s not sure why the older boy has taken such an interest in him, lanky and bespectacled and un-athletic as _hell_, when there’s a whole team of handsome, often-sweaty often-touchy guys to fixate on, but god is he not complaining. San is clingy and possessive and teases him entirely too much, but he’s Mingi’s, goddamnit.

“Say you want me to fuck you again.” San says. His eyes are slit in pleasure as he strokes his cock, fast.

Mingi blushes. He _did_ say that, didn’t he. The words feel awkward on his tongue now, post-orgasm, but he does it anyway, says _fuck me, san, I, uhm, I want your cock_ for his benefit(Mingi can’t imagine his stuttering dirty talk being percieved as sexy at all but San’s throats moves, adam’s apple bobs up and down in a harsh swallow.).

Mingi says _please_ once more, widens his eyes, licks slow over his bottom lip, and that seems to do it for San. He comes, face flushed and grunting through his teeth as he works himself through it, come landing in spurts across Mingi’s torso. 

When San has finished and sat back on his haunches, admiring the _huge fucking mess_ he’s made, Mingi makes a face at him. Fuckin’ _really_, he tries to communicates with a scrunch of his nose.

San raises an eyebrow and drags his thumb through the mess congealing in the valley of one of Mingi’s hipbones. He strikes quick, swiping his come across Mingi’s cheek and lips before the alarm bells go off in his head and Mingi can react.

“It’s a good look for you,” He quips.

Mingi stares at him in disbelief. Without further ado, he knots San’s shirt in his fist, and yanks him down for a kiss. Eventually his complaints are drowned out.

**Author's Note:**

> bruh moment


End file.
